Page 88 of Taken By the Fae

“Hey,” I say as I move toward the kitchen, where I find him chopping vegetables at the island counter. “You’re cooking.” Clean white cabinets and cupboards line two of the walls, forming an L, with gorgeous gray marble countertops. He has stainless-steel appliances, including a fridge with an ice dispenser, like the one I’ve always wanted; this space looks as if it should be featured in a home and style magazine. So much so, I almost ask if his parents own it, because a college student living here makes little sense.

He tosses me a lopsided grin when I look at him. “I thought we could eat and then work. Food is always better than homework.”

I lean against the counter and watch him chop a few more pieces off a carrot. “You don’t have to convince me. Can I help with anything?” I ask, glancing at the garlic bread on the counter.

He grabs a dish towel and wipes his hands. “You can slice the tomatoes.” He walks around the counter and hands me a knife, setting me up with a few Roma tomatoes and a marble cutting board.

I slice into one of them, and Grant watches from beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, as if he’s worried I’ll screw it up. The thought brings a smile to my lips… until my head starts spinning. Squeezing my eyes shut at the familiar sensation, I drop the knife onto the cutting board with a clatter and grab the counter.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his hand against the small of my back.

“W-what…?”

“You’re okay.” His eyes meet mine. “Sit down.” His hand drops from my back, and he returns to his place on the other side of the counter.

I stare at him without moving.

He peers over at me and frowns. “Interesting.”

Wait a fucking minute.

My eyes go wide. “You just…” My mouth goes dry, and my ears ring. “Oh my god.” My fingers grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles go white.

“Would you look at that? You finally figured it out.” He pops a piece of carrot into his mouth. “All those months of feeding from you, waiting for you to notice. But you never did.” He claps his hands together, and I flinch at the loud sound that echoes around the room. “Phew, I’m glad I don’t have to hide it anymore.”

He’s been feeding on me?My stomach churns, and my throat burns with bile.

“You… you’re fae.” The words spill out of my mouth, stating the obvious as I reel back. “What court are you from?” I ask, though the pit in my stomach tells me I already know, which means I am royally fucked.

“Are you sure you’d like me to answer that? Things are going to get far more unpleasant once I do.”

My eyes flick around the room, and I swallow hard. “Why am I here?” My thoughts immediately go to the last undesirable interaction I had with the unseelie court. I can’t help but think this is going to end a lot worse than being slammed against the side of a car.

“You’re what I need to win this war.”

I shake my head, my brows pinching together. “Why would you—” My voice breaks and my jaw clenches until my teeth ache in protest.Oh no. No, no, no.“Jules.” The name falls from my lips as fear digs its claws into my chest, because I’m standing in the same room as Tristan’s enemy—a knight of the unseelie court.

The same fae who put my brother in a magic-induced coma, and the only one who can bring him out of it.

Rage lashes across my chest, white-hot and all-consuming as Jules walks around the kitchen island, blocking my escape path. “Well done. One point for you.”

Desperate to put distance between us, I move backward. “This isn’t a game, Grant. Or Jules. Or whoever the hell you are.” When he steps toward me, I immediately lean away, but he grabs my arm and forces me to stand before him. Without hesitation, I swing my fist at his face, but he catches it all-too easily before it connects. “Why are you doing this?” I demand sharply, pulling my hand back and wincing at the tingling sensation left behind. “Why did you go after my brother?”

Quick as a snake, Jules wraps his arm around my shoulders and holds me against him, his grip too tight to break no matter how hard I struggle. He smoothes a hand over my hair, and a sickening drowsiness floods in as he feeds on my energy. I should fight him off, but standing seems like too difficult a task. My eyelids flutter, and my body falls against his. “That’s it,” he croons. “Close your eyes.”

* * *

Once awake, I blink several times before my vision clears. I turn my head to look around the room. It’s simple, fair in size, and set up with a dresser, desk, and bed. The bed that I’m lying on. I bolt upright.Where am I?

Before I can panic, the door opens and Jules walks in, carrying a tray of breakfast food with a glass of orange juice and a steaming mug of what smells like coffee.

“You’re awake,” he says in a pleasant voice, and sets the tray down on the table beside me.

I scramble off the bed, trying to put as much distance between us as possible as my heart pounds in my chest. This is bad. So fucking bad.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Something akin to anger flares to life in my chest, mingling with the fear living there. “You don’t give a shit about me.”

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